


Meeting

by Mychemicalromantic



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fluff, M/M, cecilos - Freeform, edited because native american!cecil is best cecil, i needed to break up the angst, ill post angst later I'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:31:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1206187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mychemicalromantic/pseuds/Mychemicalromantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I don't think it says how Cecil and Carlos officially met for the first time. I decided to write about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting

"Carlos," Geneva- one of his coworkers, not to mention his best friend since grad school- said as she began cleaning up the rest of the lab. "Go home. It's almost three in the morning. They're re-running some radio show that might help with the cloud thing, and you've been here for almost two days straight."  
"But I've almost got it!"  
"You're no closer to figuring anything out than you were, and all you're doing here is calculations. Besides, your hair has stayed pushed back from where you've been running your hands through it. Go home and get some sleep, I'll clean up."  
Carlos stood and offered her a weary smile, tucking his notebook under his arm.  
"Thanks, Geneva. You're the best."  
"You know it, Mendoza," she laughed as he headed out.   
He was nearly asleep by the time he made it into his apartment- he had dropped his notebook on the way up and dozed off while picking up his papers. He'd only been in Night Vale a few weeks and was in the lab most of that time, so the apartment was almost bare of furniture and, surprisingly, clean. He flipped on the small and dark-stained radio left by the previous owner to find it tuned into a voice. It was a man's voice, made of satin and something dark and evil and ugly, rearing its head just under the surface, and Carlos was immediately attracted. He shook his head, telling himself such instant attraction was ridiculous and he had to find the broadcast Geneva was talking about. He twisted the small dial, trying to catch words in the static. Somewhere far away, far across the desert, there was a high, cheery, "Hello, Desert Bl..." before it faded into a garbled mess. Hopefully, that wasn't the broadcast. Finally, he came back to that beautiful silken voice.   
"-cloud moving in from the west? Well, John Peters, you know, the farmer, he saw it over the western ridge this morning. Said he would have thought it was the setting sun if it wasn't for the time of day. Apparently, the cloud glows in a variety of colors, perhaps changing from observer to observer, although all report a low whistling when it draws near. One death has already been attributed to the Glow Cloud-"  
Carlos simply couldn't keep his eyes open. He was barely awake as it was, and the mysterious voice was soothing and soft and lulled him to sleep. He began to listen to the broadcast regularly, leaving the lab before seven each evening to get home. He'd listen to the reruns again and again and spent many lonely nights with his hand and an image of the man behind the voice purring perfectly dirty things in his ear.   
Weeks later, he took a day off- at Geneva's insistence, of course. He took that as an opportunity to go grocery shopping, because, according to Geneva, it was pretty much impossible to live off ramen noodles and coffee.   
Even the grocery stores in Night Vale were strange. There were no fewer than three stands dedicated to invisible corn. Every time someone picked up a tomato, it began to scream and the peaches bristled with sharp spines instead of the soft fuzz he was used to. He couldn't even find normal ramen noodles, which had become the main staple of his diet after moving away from his mother's house in the mountains of Mexico to attend college. There were standard flavors, fortunately, but things such as giant tarantula and something labelled exclusively in some kind of ancient runes were much more bountiful on the shelves. Carlos was staring, bewildered, at the strange script until someone tapped his shoulder.   
"Sorry, you look confused. It's Sumerian for shrimp."  
It was the voice from the radio and Carlos felt his knees go weak, confusion (and slight embarrassment) forgotten. He turned, leaning heavily on the shelf, to see a lanky-limbed Native American man looking inquisitively at him through lilac eyes. It wasn't until he blinked that Carlos noticed a third eye in the middle of his forehead, the same shade of purple, slightly hidden under his ebony bangs. He wore a plain white dress shirt under a black waistcoat, scarlet tie around his throat. Tattoos peeked out from his collar and sleeves, royal blue tentacles. Carlos couldn't help but wonder how far under his seemingly formal attire the tattoos went. As he watched they seemed to twist and move, shrinking under the other's shirt.   
It took him a few seconds to realize he was staring.   
"Oh! Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to stare, I just..."  
"It's... It's fine... You're the scientist. C-Carlos, right?"  
"I- um- yeah," he stammered, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks.   
"Cecil," the man introduced himself in the sonorous radio voice. Carlos fell in love instantly. 


End file.
